Beside Musings
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: Over the years, I have found that there is comfort in the familiar.


Bedside Musings

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Note: First, this story can be read with any particular pairing in mind. Personally though, I wrote it as Colby/Hannah, thanks to the kindness of Miz Em. Second, I wrote this piece about three episodes before the season finale. Third, because of Janus-List and if you read it as Colby/Hannah or any other woman, this story is either AU, far future, or whatever you would like to classify it as. Finally, thank you for reading and reviewing!

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Over the years, I have found that there is comfort in the familiar. There is no questioning of what is taken for granted; it is simply there, and that is enough to know without needing to consider the what-ifs. Life is uncertain, a chaotic mess that charades as order and security until that blissful ignorance is ripped away into tattered shreds by a possibility acknowledged, but denied. Odd, how that second, fifth, or tenth blow to innocent unawareness always hurts as much as the first. My hands wrap around his, tracing abstract patterns on the back of his hand, taking comfort in the familiar roughness of his fingertips against my palms.

When I first moved away from home, my grandmother's afghan reminded me of all the evenings I had spent with her in front of the fire, aimlessly sketching whatever came to mind while she told me stories about her life with my grandfather. That blanket sustained me through my homesickness during my first year of college, the pneumonia I caught in my sophomore year, my first break-up in junior year and the general chaos of my last years as an undergraduate. It became threadbare in the following years, but I have kept it tucked away in the back of my closet, for those days I need it the most. Tears keep threatening my composure, and I know that I will need my grandmother's afghan when I go home today. It has always reminded me of family and stability, and I need her steady assurance that everything will turn out all right.

Art has also been a constant in my life: crayon scribbles from my toddler years, sketches of quiet Sunday mornings on a hill overlooking the sweeping river valley on the outskirts of the local college, doodles of professors and classmates alongside notes on Western European history, spontaneous outlines of bracelets and brooches on napkins from the student café. I spend my days designing jewelry in my store and my nights sketching my family at home, sealing those precious moments into eternal memory with a few quick pencil strokes. My tiny sketchpad and pencil follow me everywhere so I will never be caught off guard when inspiration strikes. Inspiration abandoned me a few corridors and floors ago, hiding somewhere in the bushes of the hospital parking lot.

As a child, I dreamed of Prince Charming on his white horse, coming to sweep me off my feet and take me off to live happily ever after in our castle. Somewhere in the chaos of growing up, I gave up that impossible dream. By the time I was in my thirties, I was a practical businesswoman, content to marry and settle down with a typical middle-class businessman to raise 2.5 children in a house with a white picket fence. But I think in the back of my mind, I was willing to never marry and to devote my time instead to my jewelry store. Either way, I certainly never expected my now husband to walk in the front door of my office, looking to commission a birthday gift for his elderly mother. I don't know how to call her and explain to her what happened. I'm afraid that it will break her to learn that her youngest son is in the hospital again, though Irene is a strong woman who has withstood her share of tragedies.

I am not a believer at love at first sight, but I do know that I felt comfortable around him from the first time we met. His easy smile and clear sincerity put me at ease, despite the gun on his hip. We spent weeks together pouring over the design of the small locket, stealing a few hours from our work to sequester ourselves in my office to look over my latest draft. Most of those hours were after closing time, since he couldn't get away from his work during the day, and even then, there were numerous times his work interrupted us in the evenings as well. _What if his phone hadn't rang tonight?_ I dismiss the thought. There's no point in entertaining 'what-ifs' now.

I don't know when we officially started dating, when our business meetings became weekly dinners together. It had begun in a little way, when he had brought pizza to one of our meetings. The next week, I brought take-out Chinese from his favorite restaurant. To protect my drafts, we came to the unspoken agreement to eat first before bringing out my drawings for his approval. At first, the conversation was stilted — we barely knew each other, after all — but after he inquired about different ways of verifying the authenticity of classical artworks, the ice broke. I spoke freely about my business, knowing that he could not. He smiled easily and told me about his family, his mother in particular. From then on, it was easy to banter and let the conversation follow where it would.

As the weeks passed, it became routine for the two of us to meet once a week, or when he could, to simply talk. When his mother's locket was nestled carefully in white tissue paper in a pale pink box and carefully handed over to an express courier, I felt a pang of disappointment that we would no longer see each other. Then, of course, he had shown up two days later with take-out from my favorite Italian restaurant. I had to smother a ridiculous smile on my face when I invited him in. I suppose we became an official couple that night.

Five years, three rings, and one daughter later, we still have a standing weekly appointment to dine together, just the two of us. It is downtime for us, a night to reconnect and to relax, to pretend that I don't worry about him every day and that he doesn't do the job that he does. By his suggestion, we eat by candlelight and make plans for our future, even if they are flights of fancy. He doesn't know yet that I've found the travel plans tucked away in his _National Geographic_ magazine, or that my assistant Jean, a normally responsible person, has been hyper-responsible in her duties these past few weeks and mysteriously clearing my calendar for six weeks during the summer. I think our family vacation to the Cayman Islands will have to wait for another year.

Tonight he had kissed me softly with regret when his phone rang. It's happened before, and I think it frustrates him more than me. Don't get me wrong, I don't like it when his work spills over into his personal life, but I understand that when I married him, I chose to make a few sacrifices. As long as he comes home at the end of the day to me and our daughter, I'm not going to complain about not seeing him enough. Brief passionate kisses are far better than none at all. I tighten my grip on his hand, as if I can keep him from slipping away from me, as if I could keep him safe forever. I don't ever want to lose him, but acknowledge the fact that I might with a heavy heart.

I rest my head on our interlocked hands, praying for the strength to survive whatever comes. There is silence in the room, just my unsteady breathing and his steady heartbeat. I kiss the back of his hand, just to let him know that I'm here. Though his eyes remain closed, he squeezes my fingers lightly and I smile, grateful that he knows. I close my eyes and give into sleep; he will be with me here in the morning. That is all that matters tonight.


End file.
